Perfection
You know how perfection is sought by man,
and how brutal we judge our faults?
Well, one day the mud really hit the fan;
I got cancer and went through some halts
I lost the illusions I had about life
pertaining to control and security
My tumors were neatly cut out with a knife;
they said: “Out of true necessity
you should always remove or suppress imperfection
If not, you will certainly die
It is vital to control it by early detection;
to wage war on this bodily lie”
When I refused chemotherapy, hormones and radiation,
most people thought I was mad
But as it turned out, this gave true validation
to my thoughts on the medical fad;
the ones that hooked up with my need for perfection,
saying symptoms are Gods mistakes
But when I woke up I held an inspection,
and it turned out my props were fakes
I now am imperfect almost by default,
yet I have freedom and moments of joy
I sing and I play; I am out of the vault
I don’t care whom I might annoy
When the Greeks build their precious Parthenon,
they deliberately faulted its angles
My untrained eye cannot see this phenomenon,
but in this way Parthenon dangles
imperfection as a means to timely restore
a certain pulsing presence
to the building; unveiling its sacred core;
amplifying its vibrant essence
And isn’t it humorous that the epitome of perfection
was revealed to me through pathology?
Cells I thought deprived of intelligent reflection
in the end proved my souls histology
Katrine 2003
May all your Nows be Here